


Party Favours

by Suffolker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suffolker/pseuds/Suffolker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison is flushed, her heartbeat racing and the delicate patterns painted along the side of her jaw smudged beyond recognition, so that Erica can barely stop herself from laughing when she regains the upper hand.<br/>“So what, we just pretend to be girlfriends for the rest of the evening?” she mutters coolly.<br/>“Don’t be so ungrateful. I saw how much he was scaring you, you owe me,” Allison snaps back. “Just hold my hand or something. I'm doing you a favour”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Favours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MemeKon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKon/gifts).



> For the prompt 'fake relationship' which I only kind of filled, sorry about that, and set in a canon divergence in which Erica and Boyd survive the Alpha pack and are able to fully grow in their relationships with one another and with Isaac.  
> I hope this is something like what you were after, I really enjoyed writing it!

There’s a certain wildness to the party which is exhilarating for Erica, a thumping and rhythmic determination which steels the erratic madness she’s been feeling lately. The heavy bass and the flashing lights, the sheer heady teenage enjoyment of it all is grounding and directed. Everybody knows what to do with a party; drink, dance, get off if you’re lucky, and it’s a welcome change from the constant supernatural buffeting Beacon Hills receives.

Still, this party is more exciting than relaxing. The music has a screechy, manic edge, the partygoers are steely and determined and eerily beautiful under the ultraviolet light. It both brightens and darkens them, hurts Erica’s hypersensitive eyes when a girl flashes past her, a boy squeezes between her and Isaac before turning back to grin suggestively at him, teeth glaring, when Boyd returns through the crowd with three drinks and a delicate pattern of fluorescent flowers traced around the side of his face and up onto his head.

Isaac snorts at it “Who did that?” and leans back languidly against the pillar where they’ve crammed themselves.  
“I mean it’s nice,” he amends, “very pretty. But who’s painting flowers on your head?”

“Stilinski found some paint” murmurs Boyd, quietly in the deafening room but easy enough for them all to pick up. “He’s doing people he thinks are hot, I’m pretty sure” 

Erica can make out Stiles in a far corner of the room, painting a smiling and very shirtless Danny with a look of deep concentration on his face. Yes, then.

When she turns back she’s suddenly hit with a deep love she isn’t always comfortable with expressing. Boyd has bent his head to let Isaac better trace the pattern and his movements are reverential and soft, trailing a pale finger around the designs briefly before letting Boyd lift himself again. The two of them are beautiful; hulking men now rather than boys, tall and broad and with an air of elegant danger that suggests maybe the bite has been more of a blessing than a curse. Boyd is softer than Isaac, who is all menace and swagger and angular lines, and they fit together perfectly as predators, eyeing the room with a calculated grace. Erica hopes that she makes a third; small and wild and with less control than the two of them, but beautiful, dangerous as well, just as able to rip out somebody’s throat, that as a trio they mean something and that their shared experience is full of worth. On her worst nights she wonders if they even need her, or if she’s forcing her way between them, but she smothers the thoughts.

It’s easy to forget they’re teenagers until she notices Boyd staring back at Stiles again and Isaac grins and slaps him on the arm.  
“God, just go and talk to him”, he mutters, and suddenly they’re not apex predators but stupid kids and this is a really good party.  
“I don’t even think I like him, he’s so annoying” Boyd says, face stilled in concentration. “Do I like him? Is it worth it?”  
“You two ruin my life on a daily basis and I still love you” Erica grins, downing her drink. “I don’t think love’s got anything to do with it,” Isaac whispers into his cup, and that settles it.

“Okay, I’ll talk to him. Are you two going to stay here?”  
“Nope,” Isaac answers and drains his drink. “There’s a guy over there who’s been tailing me all night and I’m going to go and see if he’s worth my time.” It’s the boy from before with the smile, the tips of his locs dipped in glowing blue paint which are spinning wildly around his face as he dances. When he catches Isaac’s eye briefly he grins unabashedly and Isaac sets down his drink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Erica with Boyd.  
“Go,” she grins. Reaching up onto her tiptoes, she presses a quick kiss onto his mouth and then shouts over her shoulder as she walks off; “I’m going to see how hammered I can get.”

This is a really good party. 

Erica is unstoppable, perfect, a vengeful blonde angel in high heels and flawless makeup. She trails the outskirts of the gyrating crowd, sauntering calculatedly over to the drinks where a put upon looking Ethan has presumably been roped into looking after things. She can’t even bring herself to feel the bubbling anger the twins usually stir in her, just smiles sweetly and lets her eyes flash gold. “Ice?”  
He gestures wordlessly, with a wary glint to his eyes and she lets her fangs extend. He can’t do anything here.

Wandering around the edges again she wonders why she doesn’t feel the need to jump into the throng and start dancing. Old Erica would have been thrilled, pre-bite Erica so excited by the whole alien concept of a party with drinking and dancing that she wouldn’t have been able to control herself – post-bite Erica desperate to prove her worth. Now she feels the excited thrum under her skin but she lets it lie, content to watch.

Until –  
“Hey sweetie,” a voice slurs in her ear.  
The man next to her is definitely not a teenager and definitely a werewolf and she’s never seen him before in her life.  
“What are you doing here darling?” and the voice is tinged with a slight layer of menace under the sleaziness, the adult-man-at-a-teenager party threat in his demeanour which suggests something to do with Beacon Hills and evil and staying the fuck away from teenage girls please.

“Get off me please” she grimaces, pulling his hand off her forearm and trying to turn away, heart thumping and the gears in her brain turning in overdrive. If he’s a werewolf then he’s dangerous and he seems too drunk to realise that she’s not human either, so keeping that secret would be ideal, but she needs to be able to threaten him, but he’s so much bigger than her that he’d probably beat her in a fight and oh god fuck Beacon Hills and werewolves and twenty something year old men and where’re Isaac and Boyd (you wanted to be strong, hisses a voice in the back of her head, just tear his throat out, except she’s overreacting)

“No darling, why are you here? You shouldn’t be here, you seem… off? Do you understand me? Yeah? Off…” he shouts over the music. It’s deafening and she tries to pull away when he grabs her again.  
“Go away please,” she shouts back, “don’t touch me.”  
This time he doesn’t let her pull the fingers off her arm and pulls her in with a bruising grip. “Come on darling, who’re you with? A boyfriend? I can take him, I’ll take him, I’d rip his throat out for you” and he definitely knows she’s a werewolf, he’s baring his teeth and she’s about to cave and shout for Ethan who can maybe be trusted in this situation when someone smacks him on the shoulder and he whirls around to face them.

“Girlfriend, actually,” shouts Allison Argent, and uses the pretty, manicured hand she once used to fire arrows into Erica’s chest to flick open a knife she’s been holding against her palm. “She’s not interested.”

She’s being grabbed and pulled away and there’s a bubbling relief floating through her when the man loosens his grip on her arm, except she can’t see him because Allison is dragging her so quickly into the crowd and away from the stench of alcohol and werewolf and fear.

It’s dazed but she understands – Allison must have seen him and then heard him and this makes the most sense because he would have been angry and she could have died, Boyd and Isaac could have died, all these stupid grinning souped up teenagers could have had it if he’d been angry and-  
“Kiss me,” Allison commands, looking back over her shoulder, which Erica does, pressing a tentative closed mouth to Allison’s.  
“No you idiot, kiss me properly,” Allison demands and Erica grins wolfishly, trying to bluff her way into composure. “Oh really, if that’s what you want Arge-“  
“I'm doing you a favour idiot, grow up. Do you want to convince him, or do you want me to leave you with him so he can start ripping you to pieces and kill half of your friends?”  
She hasn’t raised her voice, knows Erica can hear her whisper despite the music, and it’s the simple coolness with which she handles this which has Erica bringing her hands up and cradling her face, leaning in open-mouthed to kiss her properly. Allison’s mouth is soft, nothing like Isaac’s but not far off Boyd’s somehow, and gentle. She opens her mouth to let Erica in before kissing back, almost angrily, pushing Erica backwards with the force of her response, and Erica pulls away.

Allison is flushed, her heartbeat racing and the delicate patterns Stiles had painted along the side of her jaw smudged beyond recognition, and Erica can barely stop herself from laughing when she regains the upper hand.  
“So what, we just pretend to be girlfriends for the rest of the evening?” she mutters coolly.  
“Don’t be so ungrateful. I saw how much he was scaring you, you owe me,” Allison snaps back, “just hold my hand or something.”

Erica can barely control her glee.

The rest of the night is fun. Erica feels every millimetre of Allison’s hand, rubs along the spindly digits and slips her thumb under the callouses her archery has left on the pads of her fingers. When Allison pulls her along she ducks and pretends to whisper conspiratorially into her ear, or grins into her collarbone, or presses a kiss to the sharp angle of her jaw. Allison has to smile in turn, and the sharp menace of her earlier threat subsides somewhat after she hisses “I’m not doing this for you Erica, I’m doing this for Scott’s pack,” into Erica’s ear.  
“Which I’m in,” Erica reminds her, and Allison is easier after that.

It’s a fairly easy façade, made better by the obvious way Allison’s heart jumps whenever Erica kisses the shell of her ear or twirls a strand of hair around her finger as they stand in the shadows, trying to remain out of the eyeline of the man from before who has been tracking her conspicuously. It’s easy to try and seem innocent, to scowl when he is turned away and to let go of her hand and to act as if this is a common courtesy when really the jumping of Allison’s heart is something to Erica, although she’s not sure what.

Half an hour after Erica watches Boyd and a bleary eyed Stiles detach themselves from a corner and stumble off giddily into the night, following Isaac who has long been lost, Allison suddenly drops to the floor.

“Allison?” asks Erica “what’s wrong?”  
“Um.” Allison looks up from where she’s sitting, “not much, I don’t think? I’m scared. And drunk. A bit drunk, that’s it.”

“He’s gone, Allison, he’s been gone for two hours now,” Erica concedes grudgingly, “so you don’t have to worry. Look, do you want me to help you to that pillar?”  
“What? But then why..?” Allison mutters, her hair falling into her face as Erica hoists her over her shoulder, “does this really count as helping.”  
Erica sets her down, and Allison sits in bleary silence for a minute or so. Around them the party has died down, the music quietened by a conscientious DJ and enjoyed by only a few couples, stumbling and trancelike, who seem to not be enjoying themselves so much as feeling obliged to dance. A few more people are strung around the edge of the building, fast asleep with balled up clothes for pillows, but aside from that the place is remarkably empty.  
When it looks like Allison’s fallen asleep, Erica sits down beside her, wincing as she pulls off her bright red heels, and letting Allison slide down the wall until she’s curled up with her head in Erica’s lap. 

“I forgive you for shooting us you know,” she mutters, “you don’t have to go around trying to save me and then acting like it’s a chore you feel obliged to do. I wish you wouldn’t.” There’s a pause before she starts talking again. “Because then this happens, and now you’re exhausted and scared and you’ve hurt yourself and I don’t know if you even really like me or not.”

Allison mumbles something in her sleep. Erica sighs.

If she sleeps here then she won’t have to worry for explanations about turning up at four in the morning, and it’s cold outside anyway and really she doesn’t want to let go of Allison. Shuffling Allison’s head out of her lap she lays down face forward next to her and settles her head on her arms, willing herself to be comfortable.

It’s another hour later when Allison half wakes and rolls onto her front, wedging herself right next to Erica and tossing an arm over her body. If Erica can feel it, she doesn’t let on.


End file.
